Dragontiarna: Thieves

by Moeller, Jonathan

  The stolen life energies surged through the web of dark magic and plunged into Cyprian.

  The power surged through him, and he screamed in agony. Or was it ecstasy? He could not tell the difference, and his feverish brain was no longer certain there was a difference between the two.

  And as the torrent of dark magic flowed through Cyprian, he felt himself change.

  His body swelled, the sleeves of his coat shredding as new muscle bulged from his limbs. He looked at his hands and saw that black claws had sprouted from his fingers, that black veins flowed beneath his skin, which had turned a pallid grayish color. Cyprian lifted his head, realizing that he was taller, and he could see the gloomy cavern in far greater detail than before. He felt strong, tremendously strong, as if he could have broken an iron rod in half with a twist of his wrist.

  The Theophract had warned him that using too much dark magic could result in mutations. Cyprian supposed he ought to have been horrified by his transformation, but as he looked at his twisted limbs and the black claws sprouting from his fingers, he found it beautiful. He had always known that he was better than the great mass of plodding sheep that made up mankind, and now he had become greater than them, had become more than merely human.

  And this was just the beginning. Once Cyprian opened the Great Eye and claimed its power, he would leave humanity behind entirely and become something more.

  Laughing, he grasped his dagger in a clawed hand and took a long step towards the Great Eye and the wooden table that held the bound Prince.

  And as he did, the urvaalgs started snarling.

  Cyprian whirled and saw a flare of white light on the far end of the causeway.

  ###

  Moriah took one step into the cavern of the Great Eye and froze, gazing in horror at the scene before her.

  “It’s almost finished,” said Calliande Arban, her voice hard.

  It seemed that the Great Eye had almost opened.

  The ring of Dwyrstones around the white platform of the island glowed with ghostly blue fire much like the underside of a pot licked by flames. The thousands of symbols carved into the Great Eye itself glowed with the same light, and Moriah saw…something within the Eye’s circumference. Her mind could not quite interpret what she saw. One instant it looked like a sheet of gray mist. The next it felt like she was looking through a hazy window, and through the window, she saw mountains and foothills and a sky covered with a sheet of fire, two armies forming upon a plain to do battle. The instant after that a film of blue fire danced within the Great Eye.

  The cult of the Drakocenti lay scattered on the island, reduced to withered corpses. Moriah wondered if they botched the spell and killed themselves, but then she understood. They had been betrayed. The Drakocenti had put their trust in Cyprian and the Theophract, betraying their oaths to the High King and the church…but they had quite clearly put their trust in the wrong man.

  Cyprian stood halfway between the Great Eye and the end of the causeway, staring at them.

  Or, at least, the thing that had been Master Cyprian of the Scepter Bank.

  He now stood eight feet tall, hulking and twisted in the ragged remnants of his clothing, and something in his appearance reminded Moriah of the urvaalgs they had fought. His skin had turned a corpse-like gray, and his eyes had become orbs of blue fire that matched the light swirling around the Dwyrstones. Dagger-like claws jutted from his fingers, and his mouth had filled with dark fangs, black slime dripping from his jaws and trailing in lines down his neck and chest.

  Whatever he had done to open the Great Eye, it had not been healthy.

  “Prince Tywall’s still alive,” said Ridmark.

  Moriah glimpsed the small form struggling on the wooden table before the Great Eye. She was not the sort of woman who was sentimental about children and given what a dark and cruel place the world was, she hardly wished to bring more people into it. Yet the thought of tormenting a helpless child disgusted and enraged her, and she would have killed Cyprian for that alone.

  As if there were already not enough reasons to strike him down.

  Of course, given the mob of creatures on the causeway and clinging to the walls, killing Cyprian would not be easily accomplished.

  “I’ll cast augmentation spells,” said Calliande, white fire crackling up the length of her worn staff. “Then I will throw them off guard.”

  Ridmark rolled his shoulders. “We’ll take as many of them as they can, and then I’ll close with Cyprian.”

  “Fighting a mob of urhaalgars underground,” said Selene. “It’s just like Urd Maelwyn all over again.”

  “Don’t remind me,” said Ridmark.

  Sir Rufinius stepped forward. “Cyprian of the Scepter Bank! In the name of the High King of Andomhaim and by the authority of the Order of the Soulblade, I accuse you of murder, treason, apostasy, and the practice of dark magic. I demand that you surrender yourself to our custody, or we shall strike you down where you stand!”

  Cyprian roared with laughter, and some of the urvaalgs snarled and howled.

  “Kill them!” said Cyprian, and the urvaalgs raced forward. The urhaalgars leaped from the walls and landed amid the charging urvaalgs, and the lumbering forms of the ursaars started forward with deep basso roars. Moriah had never seen so many creatures of dark magic gathered together in one place, let alone running towards her, and she felt a stabbing terror.

  But her sword and dagger glowed with the power of the Keeper’s augmentation spell, and Calliande was already summoning more magic. She thrust her staff, and a wall of blazing white flame leaped from the ground and rolled forward like a breaking wave in the harbor. It crashed into the advancing creatures, and dozens of them were wreathed in white flames, thrashing and shrieking. Sir Rufinius, Third, and Selene struck in unison. The big Swordbearer bellowed a battle cry, Starflame in both hands, and killed an ursaar with a chop to the creature’s thick neck. Third disappeared and reappeared behind a prone urvaalg, her swords finding the creature’s heart. Selene dispatched two urhaalgars in quick succession, taking off their heads with chops of her burning axe.

  Ridmark had gone motionless. Moriah wondered why he had stopped.

  Then Oathshield exploded with white fire in his hand, and the flames cocooned Ridmark. As they did, they hardened into plates of blue steel, and suddenly he was wearing armor from head to foot. The blue armor looked massive, as if it should have been too heavy to fight in, let alone to move.

  But Ridmark surged forward like lightning, crashing into the advancing creatures of dark magic, and Oathshield rose and fell like thunder in his hand, killing with every blow. Somehow, he was even faster with the armor.

  Moriah hadn’t known he could do that.

  But this was the end, her chance to take vengeance upon the Drakocenti for all they had taken from her, and she charged forward, her glowing blades ready. An urhaalgar turned towards her, clawed hands extended, and Moriah plunged her sword into the creature’s black-scaled chest. It let out a screeching cry, and Moriah slashed her dagger across its throat, ripped her weapons free, and turned in search of another foe.

  There was no shortage of enemies.

  ###

  Aeliana perched upon the ledge, watching the battle on the causeway.

  After Cyprian and his men had finally located the chamber of the Great Eye, Aeliana had looked around while the workmen dug their way through the rubble. That had allowed her to locate another passage into the chamber, one that she hadn’t bothered to mention to the Drakocenti. Possibly that had been a mistake. Leaving Cyprian unsupervised had allowed the Wraith to escape with Sir Rufinius, which meant that Ridmark and the Keeper were here to stop Cyprian from opening the Great Eye.

  Still, it had brought Ridmark into Aeliana’s reach, and she was ready to face him now.

  For that matter, it looked as if Cyprian had almost finished the spell. Cyprian just had to expend a little more power, and then he could kill Prince Tywall, and the Great Eye would open.

/>   Unfortunately, it looked as if casting the spells had exacted a toll on Cyprian. He had undergone severe dark magic mutation and now looked more like one of the hulking ogres that had come through the rifts at Castarium instead of the cold, aloof banker. His black-veined face was twisted with insane rage, and he looked as if he wanted to rip his foes apart with his bare hands.

  In fact, he was about to attempt it.

  Just as well. Cyprian and the creatures he had gathered would weaken the Shield Knight, and then Aeliana would finish off Ridmark and his allies. She wanted vengeance on the man, but she had no particular objection to someone else doing most of the work.

  She waited, her hand curled around Ruinheart’s crimson hilt, the dark soulblade’s hunger hissing inside her skull.

  ###

  The power of the Shield Knight surged through Ridmark, making him faster and stronger than human flesh would allow, and he tore through the urvaalgs and the urhaalgars like a storm, striking down his foes with every step. Behind him Calliande flung spells into the fray, shafts of white fire ripping through the creatures of black sorcery, and Sir Rufinius, Third, Selene, and Moriah Rhosmor fought behind him, battling the urhaalgars. Moriah fought quite a bit better than Ridmark would have expected from a thief, her glowing blades a blur. Perhaps she had learned under a good teacher.

  Ridmark hacked down the final ursaar, and he leaped on the island, Aegisikon leading, Oathshield drawn back to strike.

  Cyprian was waiting, a snarl on his inhuman face, his clawed hands gesturing as he cast a spell. A bolt of shadow wreathed in blue fire leaped from his fingers, and Ridmark raised Oathshield, using the soulblade to deflect the spell. The lance of dark magic struck the soulblade and shattered into nothingness.

  Ridmark charged, and Cyprian sprang to meet him.

  The High One of the Drakocenti crashed into him, and Ridmark staggered back a step. The mutations might have cost Cyprian most or even all his humanity, but they had made him hideously strong. Cyprian launched several punches in rapid succession, the blows landing with the force of catapult stones. Ridmark retreated, legs straining to keep his balance, and slashed Oathshield. The soulblade ripped across Cyprian’s ribs, leaving a smoking gash, and the leader of the Drakocenti screamed in rage and pain. Yet he did not slow, and he kept attacking, Ridmark backing away to keep the creature that Cyprian had become from driving him to the ground.

  ###

  Moriah cut down another urhaalgar and saw the duel between Ridmark and Cyprian at the end of the causeway.

  She could not tell if the Shield Knight or the High One was winning the fight. Cyprian was a blur of gray flesh and blue fire. For his part, the Shield Knight was retreating, but his soulblade darted out again and again, opening smoking wounds across Cyprian’s torso and arms. One good thrust through the chest or the head would finish off Cyprian, but he was moving too fast, and Moriah didn’t know how much of battering Ridmark’s magical armor could take.

  A pulse of blue fire appeared next to Ridmark, and Third attacked, her swords wreathed with fire and lightning. Cyprian reeled back, and Ridmark went on the offensive, Oathshield rising and falling as Third harried the twisted thing.

  And Moriah saw her chance. She was clear of the urhaalgars and urvaalgs, and Rufinius and Selene were dealing with the rest of the creatures. Neither Cyprian nor the remaining creatures were paying any attention to her. Moriah drew on the power of her wraithcloak and became insubstantial. She sank into the causeway, shot through the rushing water swirling around the island, and rose up through the ground behind Cyprian. Moriah became material once more, intending to spring on Cyprian’s back and cut his throat.

  Instead, her armor buzzed and rattled against her torso.

  Moriah flinched, wondering if the armor had been damaged. Yet that didn’t feel right. She felt it pulled to something nearby, and she looked at the ground. Bones and old weapons littered the earth, along with pieces of ancient armor.

  Her eyes fell upon a gauntlet. It was made for the right hand, and it was fashioned of a mixture of chain mail and metal plates. The gauntlet looked like it had been forged from the same metal as her armor, and Moriah felt drawn to it.

  A wild thought occurred to her. She and Delwen and Gunther had found the armor in the upper levels of the elven ruins. The Keeper had mentioned that it was damaged dwarven ranger armor. Had pieces of it been scattered throughout the Shadow Ways?

  Was another piece of her armor lying on the ground before her?

  Moriah extended her right hand, reaching for the gauntlet…and it collapsed and leaped off the ground.

  She gasped, expecting pain, but the gauntlet reassembled itself around her right hand. The bronze-colored mail wove its way up her arm, and she felt a thrum go through the gauntlet. In surprise she dropped her sword and stepped back, the blade ringing against the ground. At the same moment, Cyprian leaped backward like an insect, trying to evade Ridmark’s and Third’s attacks.

  His burning eyes fell on her, and his face twisted in a leer of hatred.

  “Wraith!” Cyprian roared, and he surged towards her like an arrow.

  There was no time to dodge, no time to retrieve her sword, not even time to use her cloak to become immaterial once more. In desperation, Moriah swung her newly-armored right forearm, hoping to use the gauntlet to deflect Cyprian’s claws.

  Her gauntleted fist caught Cyprian’s hand, and she felt something release from the gauntlet, some burst of force. There was a snapping noise, and Cyprian reeled back with a shriek of pain, black bones jutting from his torn forearm, his burning eyes wide with shock and pain.

  In that moment of stunned confusion, Ridmark and Third fell on him.

  Third reappeared behind Cyprian, slashing her blades along the back of his legs. Hamstrung, he screamed and fell to his knees, thrashing and snarling. Ridmark leaped, the power of his armor carrying him farther and faster than Moriah would have thought possible, and stabbed Oathshield. The blade plunged into Cyprian’s chest and burst from his back, and the High One of the Drakocenti wailed. Moriah saw white fire spreading from the soulblade and into the black veins, making it seem as if a map of fire glowed beneath Cyprian’s skin.

  Moriah stepped next to Ridmark and dismissed her helmet. Cyprian’s gaze fell on her face, and even through the mutations, she saw his baffled confusion.

  “Caitrin Rhosmor was my sister,” she spat, “and Delwen and Gunther were my best friends. I did this for them.”

  Cyprian tried to growl something, and then Oathshield blazed again. The white fire erupted from Cyprian's mouth and poured from his eyes, and he screamed once more and went limp. Ridmark wrenched his sword free, and Cyprian, Master of the Scepter Bank and High One of the Drakocenti, fell dead at Ridmark’s feet.

  Moriah let out a long breath.

  It was finally over.

  Then she saw a flare of crimson flame from the other side of the surging lake.

  ###

  Aeliana watched the idiot Cyprian throw himself against Ridmark and Third, watched the High One of the Drakocenti lose decisively.

  The High One, she thought with scorn. Now there had been a misnomer.

  But it was time for her to act.

  Aeliana drew Ruinheart, lifted the sword with both hands, and called on the dark soulblade’s power.

  For a few seconds, nothing happened.

  Then the power of the Blood Knight unlocked and stabbed into her, and Aeliana bit back a scream.

  The dark magic poured into her like acid. Aeliana saw the veins in her hands burning red, felt wave after wave of power and pain roll through her. The power of the Shield Knight armored and protected Ridmark. The power of the Blood Knight was not made to protect, but to destroy, and it was ripping apart Aeliana and remaking her.

  She would have screamed, had she the strength to draw breath.

  Then she felt something moving beneath her clothes, beneath her skin, as if iron fingers burrowed through her flesh. Even as she looked, the skin of her
hands split apart, and beneath it lay plates of crimson metal covered in glistening blood. She felt her clothes rip and fall away, felt the armor shred its way through her skin, and cover her body from head to foot in blood-glistening metal.

  It was torment.

  It was wonderful.

  And most importantly of all, it was power.

  The helmet emerged from the bloody ruins of her face and scalp, and suddenly the armor was in place. The dark power howled through her, making her stronger and faster than the limits of human strength. Ruinheart’s hunger had changed from a low murmur to a screaming howl, and Aeliana suddenly wanted to kill more than anything else she had wanted in her life, more than vengeance, more than power.

  But she looked at the blue-armored form of Ridmark Arban, and all her desires – the lusts for vengeance, killing, and power – came together in glorious focus.

  Aeliana leaped from the stone ledge, the power of her bloody armor hurling her through the air like a catapult stone. Even the power of the Blood Knight would not have been enough to propel her across the churning lake, but wings of hazy shadow unfolded from her back, slowing her descent.

  She landed on the island with a ringing clang, and shadows erupted from her in all directions, covering both the island and the causeway. Ridmark whirled to face her, Oathshield shining like a star in the haze of shadow, and Aeliana felt her ruined face grin beneath her helmet.

  Ruinheart burned with crimson flames in her right hand as she charged to meet him.

  ###